The Game We Can't Afford to Lose
by BladeoftheAngel
Summary: It was a game where the player's lives were at stake. Literally. If Love wins, all will be well. If Death wins, well...let's not dwell on that. But everyone knows, it won't be pleasant.
1. Note

**Hi guys! First of all, sorry I haven't been updating Stone Cold. But, I have something else to tell you.**

 **So, most of you probably know Flora Silverthrush. And if you don't, you really should read her stories, they're wonderful. For those of you that do follow her stories, you'd know that she'd put The Game We Can't Afford to Lose up for adoption.**

 **And of course, I loved the story, and with her permission, I'm going to be continuing from Chapter 6 and on. Any chapters before that are purely her work and I do not take credit for it.**

 **To Flora Silverthrush, thank you for allowing me to work with your story, I'm seriously honored.**

 **To all of you readers, I hope you like this, and though it may not be as good as it might have been if the original author had continued, I hope you'll like it anyway.**

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anything, and this time, even the plot isn't mine. XD**


	2. Chapter 1

The figure, looking uncannily like a red haired woman, walked up the worn wooden stairs with uncertainty lancing through her veins. She had many names; to the humans she affected, she was Love, and to the people who lived next door - the Lewis family - she was Jocelyn Fray, a hard-working mother whose daughter's father had died.

Only Clarissa's father wasn't dead. He was Death itself.

Jocelyn and Valentine (those were the names they had chosen to call themselves; she was certain his was a way of mocking her) had known each other since the beginning of time. Yet only at two points in their eternal lives had they ever had children. The first was Jonathan, who had been claimed as his father's disciple. Then two years later: Clarissa.

She had been so sure that Valentine wanted to take her daughter as a second disciple, but she refused to allow it. Instead she had smuggled her away and raised her as an ordinary mortal girl, going so far as to ensure Clarissa wouldn't become immortal. She knew perfectly well that Valentine had already found them, and was waiting for the chance to reclaim his daughter. But he would never get that chance. Not after tonight.

He couldn't touch a Game player.

A chill breeze swept through the open window of the bedroom in the small but big enough house. A small baby with hair the colour of flames lay in a crib, wide green eyes blinking slowly. They fastened onto her mother, and Clarissa let out a plaintive cry. Jocelyn ignored it. Usually at this time, Jocelyn would prick her finger and give it to the baby to suckle, so her blood would give the child a strong heart. But Clarissa already had her blood.

So Jocelyn only wrote her child's name on the paper that held the name's of so many others. Her hand trembled as she completed the tail of the i, causing her to complete two swoops and turn the i into a y.

She frowned as she studied the page. _Clary_. She had written Clary.

The woman looked over at her daughter, who had drifted back to sleep. _Clary_. She liked it. Clarissa was a formal name, meant for distant acquaintances and overly strict authorities. And - gods forbid - Death's disciples. Clary was a normal girl's name. A girl who didn't have the burden of immortality or fate resting on her shoulders. A girl who stood a chance in life.

So Jocelyn didn't correct the name on the sheet. Her child would be playing as Clary, not Clarissa.

She reached over to brush a scarlet lock of hair out of the baby's eyes, whispering the last part of the ritual.

"Have courage."

She then placed the sheet of paper on the bedside table, knowing Death would find it, and rocked her daughter until she herself fell asleep.

* * *

The next night, her opponent crept into a large manor on the other side of the small city of Alicante. The man's white-blonde hair caught the dim moonlight as he gazed as the sleeping face of his player. A boy, with the face of an angel that would one day fall.

This house had many differences to Clary's. It was far bigger than it needed to be, with obvious displays of wealth dotted around the place. The heater from the best brand, but didn't seem as warm as the faulty one in the other house. The atmosphere lacked the sense of love and devotion that the other had. With only four inhabitants, the size made the place seem empty.

It would only get emptier.

Valentine reached for the child, with more care than you would expect him to have. The baby didn't wake, blissfully unaware of the monumental point in his life he was sleeping through. Valentine pricked his finger, letting the child suckle from it.

The man knew what Jocelyn had done, and why. He knew the stakes that this individual Game was riding on. Which was why he did what he did. He refused to let Jocelyn take his daughter from him. It was sacrilege. The daughter of Love and Death, a mere mortal?

The baby opened his eyes. A molten, fiery gold were his irises, swirling with darker shades of amber. His gold hair fell in soft wavy curls, already making him look like an innocent Cupid. But the boy would grow up to be far from an angel of love. He would become a womaniser, with little chance of settling for the other player. And all because of what happened this night.

Valentine leaned over to whisper in the boy's ear. " _To love is to destroy, and to be loved is to be the one destroyed._ " The words would be ingrained upon the child's mind until he died.

He then scratched the child's name onto the paper he had snatched from the other house that day. The one that was a register for all the players there had ever been. However, he didn't write down the child's birth name: Jonathan. Instead he wrote the name Jace. Jonathan Christopher. JC. Jace.

For years to come Jace would insist people call him that, thinking Jonathan didn't feel right because it was what his stiff and strict grandmother called him. But it would be because his fate was written on a page under that name, so he couldn't change it if he tried.

Tucking the sheet away in his back pocket, Valentine paused, looking at the now sleeping child he had returned to the crib. Maybe once he won, he wouldn't kill him. He would simply take his life as forfeit the way he planned to do to Clarissa's. Perhaps he would also make a good disciple.

He would have to play even more carefully during this rematch. There was so much to win. This suddenly wasn't a Game he played just for the amusement he got from watching Jocelyn invest her heart into doomed cases, but something he could actually gain from.

"Jocelyn might play low," he said to the listening stars, "but I can play lower."

And with that he disappeared from the manor.

* * *

For the next seventeen years, the opponents watched their players. Watched with fear, and anticipation, with bated breath, as they waited for the Game to begin.


	3. Chapter 2

Clarissa Fray rolled her eyes as her best friend openly and shamelessly ogled someone from across the hall.

Clary had known Simon Lewis for over ten years, since they were children. They were next-door neighbours, and had bonded at a young age over the mutual occurrence of being ignored by all the other kids. Clary had been there for Simon when his father died of a heart attack, and he'd been there to stand up for her when she was getting knocked down by bullies, even if it led to him being knocked down with her.

Clary didn't ask what her friend was doing, knowing all too well the brief and fleeting crushes he tended to get on some of the more stunning girls. So she paid his obsessive behaviour little heed, instead getting out her sketchbook and letting her pencil dart across the page, describing a monochrome image of the tree she could see through the window. They had been asked to come to the hall for an assembly, but the entire year had been waiting for so long that most of the students had resigned themselves to chatting amongst themselves. Some even threw paper planes.

"Simon," she finally said exasperatedly. Not that she was bothered whether or not her friend was making a fool out of himself (much), but people were casting sidelong glances at the two of them and she couldn't stand their pitying stares. "Could you _be_ any more obvious?"

He was jerked to attention at the sound of her voice. "What?" He said over-enthusiastically. She rolled her eyes.

"Once you've detached your goggling eyes from the famous Isabelle Lightwood," she drawled, sweeping her arms in one long motion. "Maybe you might notice the dozens of people snickering at you."

Simon twisted round, trying to catch them in the act, and saw enough students hastily breaking eye contact to know she was speaking the truth. "Am I really _that_ obvious?" He asked in a dejected whisper.

"Do I really need to answer that, Si?" She sighed in response.

She saw her friend's eyes widen in horror at something behind her. She paused in her faint laughter, then turned her head and torso to see none other than Isabelle's friend - practically brother - Jace Herondale coming towards them. "Oh no," Simon recited the words under his breath like a chant. She cast him an irritated look as she returned to her drawing.

Jace had come up in front of them, and was tapping his foot, his fiery gold gaze fixed on Simon's cowering form. By the time he opened his mouth to finally say something, Clary had already abandoned her sketch and interrupted him in an annoyed voice. "Can I help you?" It just dripped sweetness and sarcasm.

The blonde in front of her switched the subject of his scrutiny and met her harsh glare. He gave her one of his award-winning smiles, displaying white, even teeth. "Not in this context," he simpered seductively, "but perhaps-"

She cut him off by simply blanking him, returning to her sketchpad. He faltered slightly; clearly he was not used to being ignored by girls. When she returned her attention back to him, she met his questioning gaze. "Get to the point."

He huffed, but made a sound that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle. "I came over to chew out Lewis over here out for gawking at Isabelle, since her brother won't do it himself."

She chewed the rubber at the end of her pencil, before she started filling in the bird's nest in one of the tree branches. "And why would that bother either of you so much?" She inquired mildly, like they were discussing a matter of little importance.

He looked caught off guard for a moment. "Why would it bother me?" He repeated in a surprised tone, looking at her like it should be obvious. "Well no one undresses Izzy with their eyes and-"

"I'm pretty sure practically every boy in the school undresses her with their eyes," she cut him off thoughtfully. "Even some of the girls. Half the school's sexually attracted to her."

Jace grinned, displaying a chipped incisor that somehow only made him more alluring, and leaned forward to whisper in her ear. "And does that include you?" He murmured. Her miniscule shiver came from the intense heat coming from his skin, searing her face. It was _scorching_.

"No," she said mildly, and was proud to say her voice was steady.

"Then who do you feel 'sexually attracted' to?" He countered in a low purr. She fought to keep her face steady and, by the faintly impressed and horrified look on the teenager's face, she succeeded.

She turned her head to look him in the eyes and regretted it. His blazing orbs seemed to sear through the veils of smoke and shadow she'd wrapped around herself to reveal the unyielding truth of her. The air between them was charged; they were close enough to kiss. "People I respect," she uttered in response to his earlier question, then looked down back to her drawing. She felt it was missing something, she but couldn't tell what.

By Simon's sharp bark of laughter, she presumed Jace had stormed back over to his friends. Glancing up, she caught the gleeful laughter on the Lightwood siblings' faces, and the murderous glare Jace shot her.

She allowed herself a small smile.

* * *

When the teacher presenting the assembly _finally_ arrived, and Alec had stopped chuckling (it would be a long time before Simon did), a hush fell across the room, occasionally being disturbed by a mutter, like droplets disturbing the surface of a flat pond. The teacher smiled at them warmly, though it came out as more of a grimace. Everyone knew that Starkweather hated public speaking. Clary often wondered why he'd become a teacher in the first place.

"Well," he said, leaning into the microphone from behind the podium. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. "We're all here." His voice trembled slightly; Clary was beginning to feel sorry for him. He cleared his throat and when he spoke again, his words came out slow enough to be understood, but fast enough to let them know he just wanted to get this over with. "The school is planning to spearhead a new award that's become available to students aged thirteen to eighteen." Some interest shown, but not much. "You earn it by collaborating with another student to create some sort of project to present - it can be visual or auditory - that combines strengths of both partners. If the examiners deem it enough work for the allotted time, then it can look very good on a university application. It can be created however you want; be as creative as you like."

An excited murmur ran through the assembled students. Clary and Simon instantaneously turned to grin at each, their decision already cemented. Their hopes were killed by Starkweather's next words "And the partners will be chosen at random from those who sign up."

The collective groans were surely heard in Canada. Starkweather, who now seemed to have become more confident, surveyed them superiorly with an air of disapproval. "The entire point of this is to show you can collaborate and compromise with a person. Therefore, we are testing your abilities to work with someone you've likely never worked with before."

Clary rolled her eyes, though this wasn't going to stop her from signing up. She had to admit: this sounded interesting.

She scanned the room in amusement, taking in all the crestfallen faces, but pulled her gaze away the moment it locked contact with Jace Herondale's.


	4. Chapter 3

Jonathan Christopher Herondale, or Jace as he preferred to be known, grinned wickedly at his as-good-as-a-sister Isabelle as Hodge Starkweather began to speak at the front of the hall.

"You know," he began innocently, but he knew by Isabelle's wary expression that she had a premonition that she wouldn't like whatever he would say. "I chewed out Rat-face for staring you - a job I still think Alec should have been the one to do - but I never mentioned to him or his fiery friend that you were subtly staring right back."

Isabelle scowled, as was his aim, but seemed to decide to focus on one specific part of his sentence. "Fiery friend?"

He shrugged. "You know: Clary Fray. The munchkin with the bright red hair."

Isabelle smirked at him. He decided he did not like that smirk. "I'm surprised you remember her name. You don't remember, any names from your one night stands."

"Yes, but none of my one night stands implicitly called me a manwhore."

The raven-haired girl snorted, and somehow managed to make that attractive. "That explains why you fled over here like a bat out of hell. She surprised you with her glibness, didn't she?"

He glanced up and fixed his gaze on the scarlet head listening intently a few rows in front. Now groans were filling the hall, and the little devil grinned as she surveyed the moaners. He imagined she could feel the weight of his gaze of her, burning a hole in her back. Though for once, not in a suggestive way.  
He didn't fail to notice how she dropped her eyes before she met his gaze. "You could say that."

* * *

"So then," Isabelle said, twirling her fork around her long pale fingers. They were sitting in the cafeteria for lunch, and she'd been sitting in a stony silence for at least twenty minutes to allow him the chance to flirt with a girl who'd come up to him. "Are you putting your name in for the project thing, or what? I'm not sure if Alec will - Heaven knows he hates presenting stuff - but I figured you wouldn't turn down a chance to show off."

Jace regretfully had to admit he had no idea what she was talking about. "What?"

His friend grinned like the Cheshire Cat. That exact smile, actually, Jace mused, down to the base of the smiler knowing something the receiver didn't. "Weren't you listening in assembly?" She asked innocently, like she didn't know full well that he hadn't been. She continued with a wicked glint to her dark eyes that told him he would not like the tangent she went off on. "Or were you too busy ogling a five foot something girl with frizzy ginger hair and-"

"It's more crimson, actually," Jace interrupted thoughtfully. Isabelle didn't looked nearly as shocked as Jace did that his words hadn't been the slightest bit defensive.

"Anyway," Isabelle shook off the wayward thoughts. "To quote : _The school is planning to spearhead a new award that's become available to students aged thirteen to eighteen. You earn it by collaborating with another student to create some sort of project to present - it can be visual or auditory - that combines strengths of both partners. If the examiners deem it enough work for the allotted time, then it can look very good on a university application. It can be created however you want; be as creative as you like_." She paused for dramatic effect. " _And the partners will be chosen at random from those who sign up_."

Jace gaped at her in awe. "How on Earth do you remember that word for word?!" He half-cried.

She laced her fingers together and tilted her head forward so it was like she was looking at him over imaginary glasses. It was a very imperial look. "It's called the art of listening, Jonathan." She said seriously, patting the mop of golden curls on Jace's head.

He smacked the back of her head. She shrieked at him as he messed up her sleek ponytail.

"But you never answered the question," she barrelled on, just as bubbly as at the start. "Will you, or will you not, sign up?"

Jace grinned at Alec as the black-haired boy dodged between the tables trying to get over to them, brushing off the flirtatious girls who threw themselves at him by the dozen and who he always inexplicably turned down without comment. His friend looked harried and slightly hunted as he finally reached their table and plopped himself in a chair next to his sister. He huffed out a breath.

Jace raised one blonde eyebrow at him. "That was an awfully long absence of yours just to go to the toilet. Did anything happen?"

Alec flushed an unattractive red as he picked up on Jace's innuendo beneath the concern. Jace knew that Alec knew that Jace thought Alec could take care of himself.

"No," he said sharply. "Nothing like that. Not everyone follows your habits, Jace."

Those words would probably have wounded any other boy or girl, but they bounced off of Jace's diamond walls without leaving so much as a dent or scratch. "You're right," the boy said, leaning back. "Not everyone can or could ever handle being as perfect as me."

Isabelle snorted. "In case you haven't noticed, recently in the world the word 'perfect' has been synonymous to the word 'fake'." She bit out. He frowned, wondering where her scathing words had come from. "Are you fake?"

Jace swallowed. "Of course not," he lied effortlessly. But this was Isabelle. She knew he was lying and he was counting on her to call his bluff.  
Which she didn't do. Instead she changed the subject - a very un-Isabelle mode of operation.

"So are you going to sign up, or not?" She asked. "If you want, I can sign up too. Make it a competition between us."

He grasped her outstretched hand with the tight grip he only reserved for bets and challenges. "Deal. You're going down, Lightwood."

The girl's eyes gleamed with something he couldn't decipher. "I won't fall as hard as you, Herondale."


	5. Chapter 4

Having not quite watched, but become aware of, the encounter that would prove to be momentous that had occurred only moments before, Jocelyn (she quite liked that name; better than any others at least) leaned against the rusted old gate that led into Alicante's graveyard, still and silent under the light dusting of January snow. It unnerved her, the closeness of this meeting spot to her and her daughter's residence. She suspected he had done that deliberately, to show how close the mundane world and their world were, and the futility of hiding anything in either.

Or maybe, she mused, patiently waiting for him as he continued his trend of being artfully late, he'd chosen this spot to demonstrate the futility of Love in the face of Death. Every gravestone she passed proclaimed a person's death day, and it broke her heart to see those of one family grouped together. All of them had died on the same day, the youngest only being a few months old. She swallowed.

Before she could turn back around, a low voice pricked the back of her neck. "Jocelyn." The tone was mocking, apparently finding amusement in the mundane name she'd given herself. "It's been a long time."

She turned to see him - Valentine - with his broad muscled arms spread out in a parody of a gesture of welcome that almost passed as the real thing. His dark eyes searched her face, but whatever he made of the frown adorning her features, he didn't show a reaction to it. "It has," she agreed. Not long enough.

"Of course," he continued smoothly, slithering towards her with his confidently graceful swagger that he never lost, "it hasn't felt like that long for me. But I haven't been living with the mundanes and their momentary lifespans. I figured you must have adapted to counting each second as though it's your last, although you have no need for it."

She glared at him, hating to admit that yes, she had picked up some habits from them. The fingers feverishly tapping at her left thigh bore witness to that. As much as she admired humans - strange, beautiful, strangely beautiful creatures that they were - she did not want to be one. She could no more deny her own nature than the moon could deny the sun.

As she glared at Valentine, in her peripheral vision she saw the light shift and suddenly she noticed Jonathan, her daughter's older brother, standing slightly behind his father with an intense emotion on his face, though she couldn't tell what the emotion was. It was as though he'd been there all along.  
She took the opportunity to study him critically. Possessing the ability, as all immortals did, to alter his appearance, Jonathan usually chose to make himself look threatening, in a feral way. In the few times she'd seen him he'd donned triangular canines and slitted pupils. She was surprised to see that he was now looking wholly human - even the odd teeth were gone, she noted suspiciously.

This didn't bode well.

Nevertheless, she shifted her attention to the larger male. He wore a smug, cultured grin that terrified the wits out of her. She braced herself for more demeaning words but he merely proffered the paper written with hundreds of names, folded so the names of the two current players were facing up. Clary and Jace. It was funny, she thought to herself, how they'd both chosen to give their player a nickname, rather than going with their birth name.

"Shall we begin?" He asked, a cheerful lilt in his voice.

She accepted the sheet and drew from her pocket, the two dice - made of human bone - that they used for the Game. She wordlessly handed them to her opponent. The man hadn't even acknowledged his son's presence yet.

He rolled the dice. The numbers that faced upward were a four and a three. "The Game ends in July then." He said without hesitation.  
Swallowing again, Jocelyn took the dice and rolled. Despite herself, she released a bark of laughter, which earned her a look of narrowed eyes from her son. But she couldn't help it.

Four and three, again.

She bit the inside of her cheek. She could times them together, or add them together. Usually she would go with twelve to give the players more time. But by some whimsical humane impulse she should squash, she chose the symmetry of the seventh.

Thankfully, it was Valentine who said it. "The Game ends at midnight on the seventh of July." She would wonder how he knew her choice, if she didn't also know that she didn't want to know.

"What are the stakes?"

He smiled then, a flash of white sea foam that spoke of the treacherous rocks beneath. "When I win, I get to claim both players."

Her eyes, which had been drifting to the snow covered ground, snapped back up to meet his. She barely clamped back a cry of protest. Jonathan looked smug. Valentine's eyes glinted. _Try me,_ they said. _Object, and see what happens._

She didn't. He was more powerful than she and they both knew it.

So she focused on making sure her voice didn't waver. "If I win, both live on and die in due time as regular mortals."

Only the bob of his throat displayed his displeasure and anger. He nodded. "What constitutes a victory?"

She wiped her palms on her jeans, thinking it over. "She has to make him believe in Love." She said. "They have to have complete and utter faith in the other."

He nodded again, poker face impeccable. "And I win if the time runs out, or if your player chooses Death, or similar."

 _Clary would never do that_. Nevertheless, she hurried on from the subject of losing. In a motion whose fluidity spoke of many practices, Jocelyn pricked her finger and rubbed a small squirt of blood over Clary's name, effectively binding her daughter to the contract. But whether this was a death warrant, or an order of release, was yet to be determined. "They live so long as this paper remains intact."

Valentine followed suit. "We'll see how long that is."

* * *

As they walked away Jocelyn heard soft echoes of Valentine and Jonathan's conversation.

"I thought you said she'd be there." Her son's voice was a distinct whine.

"Players can't know about the Game, Jonathan. You'll meet her soon."


	6. Chapter 5

Clary idly dragged the nib of her cartridge pen across the thick paper of her sketchbook, studying distractedly the differing thicknesses of the line as she changed the angle of the utensil. She hummed with satisfaction when her constant circling created a strange but captivating spiral pattern on the page, with the lines seeming to weave in and out of each other.

It was odd, how one could create beauty without meaning to.

She glanced up once, when Simon came into the assembly hall to sit in the uncomfortable chair next to her. She wasn't exactly sure why she'd chosen to come into the hall at least ten minutes before they were meant to be there, but Simon didn't inquire, thankfully. He was used to her unexplainable, erratic behaviour by now. The only viable explanation she could think of was that either the people outside were being annoying, or she wanted to finish her drawing. They just sat together in companionable silence, neither needing to say anything.

Jocelyn, having taken the form of a dove that was now perched in the tree Clary had been drawing the day before, watched her daughter and her friend through the high window, heart beating fast with anticipation for the moment she'd wrought.

Because this was it. What Valentine and Jocelyn were doing went far beyond the normal standards of meddling parents, but it was for her daughter's own good. That was a valid excuse, wasn't it?

Which was why the previous evening she'd snuck into the office of the person orchestrating this whole project and studied the array of participant's names pinned to the board, horizontal to the name of the person they were paired with. And very deliberately changed some.

The two players were put together, obviously. A child could have guessed that.

But she couldn't pretend she hadn't seen how Simon looked at her daughter, or the way Alec looked at Jace. So she'd sought to remove all obstacles from this love story, by introducing them to new people she knew they would be attracted to, via the same method. They would each be introduced to their significant other within minutes, when the names were called out.

Back in the hall, Clary looked up when the door swung open, to see Jace Herondale and his posse (namely, Alec and Isabelle) enter. She took in the sight with a vague but disinterested surprise; she had not expected them to be the ones to sign up.

In fact, she thought as she scanned the other faces in the room, she hadn't expected many of these people to sign up. Well, Tessa Gray in the corner, she had certainly expected, but Jon Cartwright? Jace Herondale? Sebastian Verlac? Never.

Perhaps they thought they might get to be paired with Isabelle, she considered, noting the way some of the boys' eyes were fixed hungrily on the beautiful girl. That would make sense. It was futile, but it made sense.

All the chatter ceased as the door swung shut, and Clary turned to see Starkweather at the front. She mentally applauded the man for actually having the self-confidence to shut everyone up. She noted a pretty Asian woman with very striking features standing next to him, surveying the room with something close to disapproval. She kind of looked like Aline.

She began speaking. "My name is Jia Penhallow, and I'm the coordinator for this project," she announced in the ready silence. Clary nodded along. "We've chosen the pairs completely at random from the participants, which are," she cleared her throat. "Tessa Gray and William Herondale." Clary wondered if he was related to Jace.

She zoned out until the names, "Alexander Lightwood and Magnus Bane," jolted her out of her reverie. She knew Magnus. He was in her drama class and he was always nice to her, always eccentric, and always wearing half the glitter in the galaxy.

Jia continued. "Simon Lewis and Isabelle Lightwood."

Clary laughed out loud. She peeked round at Isabelle to see her shrug, with a distasteful look at the disappointed boys. Apparently she thought Simon was the lesser of two evils.

The boy himself looked like he'd suspected he'd been promised the moon, but hadn't really believed it until it was handed to him on a plate. She giggled at his expression, and whispered "Congratulations," to him over the din of disgruntled chatter. What she heard next though, wiped the smile off of her face and dropped it in the gutter.

"Clarissa Fray and Jonathan Herondale."

Clary looked up in horror. No. She twisted round to look at him and he looked similarly shell shocked. Then they met eyes and his shock dropped into a mask of casual indifference, but she could still see the surprise there, swimming beneath an untouched surface.

She put her head in her hands. Looks like she'll be putting up with his verbal diarrhoea for the next few months.

As Jia continued to read out the names, Clary pulled out her sketchbook and stared at the swirling pattern she'd made earlier. Then she flicked back a few pages to the drawing of the tree she could see through the window she'd done when she was last in here. Looking up at the tree, she absently noted a dove perched in it, seemingly studying her just as intently as she was it. She sketched that into the drawing, and studied it with satisfaction.

That had been what she'd thought was missing the few days ago.


	7. Chapter 6

**_Well. Here goes. From this chapter_ _on, it will be my writing._**

* * *

 _Okay. Deep breaths. Calm down, don't flip out._ Clary closed her eyes, counting to ten. When she opened them, she was _extremely_ disappointed to find the source of all her irritation still standing right in front of her. "It's you. Again," she muttered, glowering at her sketchbook.

"Missed me already?" Jace smirked, leaning on the back of one of the chairs. Pointedly, Clary ignored him, choosing to look at the spot over his shoulder where she had seen the dove through the window. It was gone now, but in it's place, a heart-shaped leaf lay on top of the branch.

"You know," Jace mused, glancing at her. "Most girls tend to ogle at my face, not my shoulder. Though, I suppose, I do have quite a sexy shoulder."

Clary picked at her nails, still blatantly not acknowledging Jace's words. Simon's eyes darted back and forth between the two, barely suppressing his laughter. "Oh, this is too funny. How does it feel to be ignored, Herondale?"

Jace swiveled around and smiled, a dangerous, lazy smile. "Rat-face, make sure you invite me when you decide to propose to Isabelle. Declarations of love amuse me. Especially when unrequited."

That shut Simon up pretty quickly, his face reddening. Clary paused in her sketching, wrinkling her nose. "Simon, is it a habit of yours to make conversation with egotistical, bigheaded, garbage dirtballs?"

"Uh...no?" Simon frowned, confused by his friend's sudden question. Clary raised her eyebrows.

"But you're talking to _him_ ," she pointed her pen at Jace. Simon directed his gaze back at Jace.

"Yeah, but what does that have to do with... _oh_. I get it, so that makes him an egotistical, bigheaded—"

"Shut up, will you?" Jace gritted his teeth, his irritation evident.

"Why, Jace, I don't believe I've ever seen you so flustered in my life!" From behind him, Isabelle sauntered up, her heels clicking loudly against the floor, announcing her entrance. Immediately, Simon looked away, ducking behind Clary. She shook her head sympathetically at him before walking up to Isabelle.

"Hi! Isabelle, right? I don't believe we've ever properly introduced ourselves. I'm Clary," she smiled sweetly at the taller girl, extending her hand. Jace's mouth dropped open in shock. This was _not_ how she would have greeted him, if she actually decided to finally talk to him, that is.

"Well, Clary, I know we're going to get along just fine. Our mutual dislike for—what was it that you called him before? Egotistical, bigheaded…"

"Egotistical, bigheaded, garbage dirtball," Clary supplied happily. Isabelle laughed, the two of them completely disregarding their subject of conversation, was was seething angrily right behind them.

"Ahem," Jace coughed loudly, finally gaining the girls' attention. "I would rather you not insult me in my presence, or rather, not at all, for that matter."

"Aww, poor Jacie's got his feelings hurt?" Isabelle cooed, patting his back.

"He's got a little boo-boo on his otherwise massive ego! Want me to kiss it better?" Clary joined in, using a baby voice. Jace leaned in close to her, smirking.

"Sure, why not? Right here," he pointed to his mouth. Clary tilted her head slightly, confused. It took a split second before she realized what he meant and she reddened.

"I was joking, you pervert!" She snapped.

"You offered," Jace shrugged. Rolling her eyes, Clary turned around to dig in her backpack. She stomped back up to Jace with a band-aid in her hand.

"What are you—" Jace was cut off as Clary plastered the band-aid right across his mouth.

"There," she crossed her arms, smirking in satisfaction. "For the boo-boo on your mouth."

Jace blinked.

Simon and Isabelle had never laughed harder.

* * *

"Mom, I'm home!" Clary called, throwing her bag on the floor and collapsing on a chair. She was still relishing in Jace's shell-shocked face when she slapped the bandaid on his face. It was utterly and completely hilarious. Jocelyn emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.

"Aren't you cheerful today," she remarked, taking in her daughter's mood.

"Oh, yes, I've had a _wonderful_ day," Clary nodded, grabbing an apple from the bowl and taking a bite.

"So?" Jocelyn leaned across the counter. "What is it that's got you practically floating?"

"It's nothing, really," Clary waved her mother off, a small smile still toying at the edge of her lips.

"Nothing? It can't be nothing. Tell me, does it have anything to do with that partnered presentation your school is having?" Jocelyn grinned. _Everything must be going according to plan. It'll be no time before they fall in love…_

"What? How do you know about that?" Clary asked, surprised. Jocelyn's eyes widened. _Oh right, I'm not supposed to know about that, am I?_

"Oh, uh, they sent out the emails this morning," Jocelyn quickly covered up. Clary nodded.

"I see. But, no, that's not the reason I'm so happy. In fact, that's the only reason I'm _not_ happy. My partner sucks," she groaned. "And I'm going to have to put up with his ego and his sarcasm and that sexy smile—wait, _what am I talking about?"_ Clary shook her head vehemently before dashing up the stairs. "I'm gonna start on my homework!" She shouted.

"Sure, I'll get you when dinner's ready!" Jocelyn yelled back. She watched with a small smile as Clary closed the door to her bedroom. "Your partner sucks, huh?"

* * *

"...You wouldn't believe the look on his face, Alec," Isabelle chortled. She was animatedly retelling what had happened earlier with Clary, while Jace sat in the corner, sulking. The first thing he had done when he'd gotten home from school was make a beeline straight for the fridge. To everyone's surprise, Jace took out a tomato, and began viciously stabbing it with a knife. He said something about "letting his wrath fall upon the annoyingly cute evil redhead." When Alec raised a questioning eyebrow at Isabelle, she burst out in laughter, telling Alec about the hilarious encounter between fits of giggles. Jace, who had no interest in hearing about how he was humiliated, retreated to the couch and resorted in glowering at anything and everything.

And though he refused to admit it, that night, there was nothing else on his mind besides her face. _It's only because I hate her so much_ , he told himself as he went to sleep. Yet, she haunted his dreams, for many, many nights to come.

* * *

"Damn it. Damn Jocelyn," Valentine muttered, raking his fingers through his hair.

"Why are you so frustrated? I thought you were confident in your victory?" Jonathan appeared behind him, a glass of wine in his hand. His swirled it around before taking a sip.

"Of course I am. There is no way he will fall in love in Clarissa. I have made sure of it. I am simply...peeved at the fact that he seems to show interest in her at all," Valentine glanced at his son out of the corner of his eye. "If I win, then I want no doubt that I have won. Otherwise, I haven't really won."

"Would you like me to interfere, then? I wouldn't mind meeting my darling sister," Jonathan offered, his eyes following the movements of the wine as it sloshed around in the glass.

"I will ask for your assistance when the time comes. As of now, it is unnecessary."

"Very well, then," Jonathan sighed. Valentine could see a flicker of disappointment as he watched Jonathan down his drink in one gulp, setting the now empty glass on the table. He placed a hand on his shoulder.

"Don't worry, you'll meet her soon enough," he turned towards the window, gazing at the dark sky. There were no stars to been seen. It was pitch black, save for the moon, casting a silver shadow over everything. Valentine narrowed his eyes. "Because _I don't do things halfway_ ," he smiled, his mouth curling up in a snarl, baring his teeth like that of a predator stalking its prey. His eyes glinted, dark as obsidian in the moonlight. No, he was more dangerous than a mere predator.

He was Death.


End file.
